Little desert dove,
 
although the sun is sizzling,
 
you pour out cool songs.

 
 

Ms. Cooling Breeze comes
 
on a sizzling desert day—
 
we greet with a hug.

 
 

Trickling through the pines,
 
a summer rain makes its way
 
to a desert place.

 
 
 

The last days of spring
 
trickle out the garden gate
 
like a desert stream.

 
 
 

Deserts I have walked
 
still somehow remember me—
 
stones and dust and thorns.

 
 
 

Again and again
 
a trackless desert appears
 
in my late spring dreams.

 
 
 

On a desert path
 
songs leak out of the pebbles,
 
cries arise from thorns.

 
 
 

Early morning rain—
 
all my plans evaporate
 
as a desert stream.

 
 
 

Cloudless April day—
 
I walk a desert pathway,
 
consoled by birdsong.

Zero

 
 
 

zero Celsius—
 
dreaming of the pyramids
 
and the desert sands